Lucas just looked up at him, flushed and ruined, lips parted and gaze heavy. "Then die pretty," he said, and slid his hand up—slow, deliberate, thumb brushing the head and spreading the bead of precome already gathering there.
Trevor swore again, barely able to breathe as Lucas stroked him, the pace teasing, unhurried, and cruel in its precision. He watched every twitch of Trevor's jaw, every barely restrained sound, and smiled—wrecked and radiant beneath him.
He grabbed Lucas's wrist, gently but firmly pulling his hand away. "No more games."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "You started it."
Trevor pushed his legs apart in answer, his cock sliding through the slick between them, coating himself in the proof of just how ready Lucas was. The omega gasped at the contact, his thighs trembling as Trevor aligned himself at the entrance, hands braced on either side of his hips.
"Last chance," Trevor said, his voice a low growl. "Tell me to stop."
Lucas didn't.
